I watched Poltergeist on telly last night for about the 25th time in my life, and had forgotten just how much I love this film. It makes a damn good job of convincing you that little girls can be snatched by spooks through the telly and, as I used to be a little girl, that's scary.
Also, it brought back good memories. I remember watching it as kid and thinking how great it must be to live in America. I mean - the size of that house! And fancy having a swimming pool built in your own back garden. And the family had three tellies, one in the living room, one in the bedroom, and one in the kitchen - and the one in the living room had a remote control. Wow. Also, the parents' room had its own bathroom, and the kids' room had its own full size closet complete with gateway to another dimension. It just wasn't like that living in West Bromwich.
It also made me realise a couple of things too. First, I nearly called this blog "Throwing Rocks At The Moon", but I couldn't remember where I knew that saying from and so decided against it in case it had undesirable connotations or was a cliche. It's probably just a common saying, but the line is in the film so it could have been swishy around my brain all these years from watching it so many times. Second thing, I've always had this fear of waking up and finding a mouldy old skeleton in the bed next to me, and I'm thinking that too might have originated from this film. Although I'm guessing everyone worries about that.
Anyways, I thought this might be an apt time to write up all my spooky experiences; something I wanted to do at Halloween, but didn't have time. I can't be precise with dates, so I've just given the phases of my life in which these things happened. If spooky things are your thing, read on:
Primary School
One. I only had a little bedroom at my parents' house, and there wasn't room to have a bedside table, so to keep a glass of water by my bed at night, my mom used to pull up my Fun Drum (if you're a child of the '70's you'll know what that is, for others it was a plastic tub to put toys in and it had a lid that made it look like a drum) up to the side of my bed. One night I was awoken from sleep by the sound of something slapping my Fun Drum. It was dark in the room and I couldn't switch the light on without getting out of bed, so I reached a hand out only to find that one of my slippers was sitting on the Fun Drum. I remember being surprised and thinking "better go back to sleep and forget that happened." In the morning, sure enough, there was one of my slippers on the Fun Drum.
I still have a glass of water by my bed, but this is the only incidence of slippers waking me up at night.
Two. I was alone in my parents' living room, I think watching Top of the Pops, when I heard a distinct rattle behind the armchair to my left. I stared at the armchair for a while and then got up and looked behind it to see what had caused the noise. There I found the long red plastic cocktail spoon that normally spent its time living in the tall cocktail shaker on the shelving unit just behind the armchair. I picked it up and put it back in the cocktail shaker, unable to figure out how it had managed to fall on the floor.
My mom and dad still have that spoon and shaker.
Late Teens
One. It was early in the new year. My gran had died over Christmas and I missed her. I was lying on my back on the floor in my parents' living room, listening to the hiss of the gass fire, and feeling very sad that I hadn't been able to say goodbye to her before she passed away. The phone rang. The sound shocked me and seemed unusually loud. I went into the hall and answered it. The line was very crackly. An old lady's voice said "hello, hello" and she sounded like my gran. I felt myself begin to freak out. The conversation went something like this. The old lady said "I've got some post here for Mrs H... " Mrs H... was my gran's name, "did you want the letters?" I think I asked what letters they were. The old lady said something about life insurance. Scribbles' little heart was pounding in her chest. I told the old lady we didn't want the letters thank you, and she said alright, and we both put the phone down. Then I burst into tears.
Mystery never cleared up. Might not have been a spooky experience had either the old lady told me who she was, or if I'd have asked.
Two. This didn't happen to me, but to my dad and uncle. My family, along with two aunts and their family, were all on holiday together at a campsite we went to every year on the coast of Anglesey. We had a tradition of spending the week collecting firewood on our walks and on our last night having a bonfire amongst the rocks, in which we cooked potatoes in silver foil, and around which we drank cider and sang songs (bunch of bloody hippies). On this particular holiday on our last day it rained all day and it was clear it wasn't going to knock off for the evening bonfire. Instead of cancelling it however we decided to hold it in one of the coastal look-out posts. The site had been used by soldiers during World War Two, and there were several old buildings dotted along the coast. The look-out post was a small squat concrete construction with a sort of open bay window that looked out across the Irish sea towards Hollyhead, and we crammed ourselves in there, setting our deckchairs around a small fire.
Gallons of cider and women's bladders don't mix. Half way through the night all the women wanted to go to the toilet, but the camp block was situated far away at the other end of the campsite. It was dark and raining heavily and so two cousins got their cars and transported us all to the toilet block, leaving behind my dad and one uncle.
When we got back we found my dad and uncle - two great big strapping Black Country men by the way - much flustered, telling us they they'd seen a ghost.
Apparently after we'd gone, my dad and uncle had sat silently looking into the dying flames of the bonfire. At one point my dad had looked up and saw standing outside of the look-out post a man in a great coat, staring sadly in at the flames. He'd knocked my uncle with his elbow, and he too had looked up to see the man. The man hadn't spoken or looked back at them, and after a space of time, he'd just turned and walked away. They'd got up and scanned the rocks looking for him, but of course, he'd disappeared.
Those WWII buildings no longer exist. They were due to be listed, but in order to save themselves from the cost of having to look after them, the owners of the site knocked them down.
Late Twenties
My then boyfriend (he's now my husband) and I rented a flat that sat above the flat of a women who played her music all day and below two girls who "entertained" their boyfriends all night. One night I dreamt of a lovely 1930's house with a huge back garden, that was sat back from a wide road, and looked out over a collection of allotments. When I woke up I craved that house and its peace and quiet.
A year later we're house hunting. We find a lovely 1930's house with a huge back garden, set back from the road, overlooking an estate of mock-Tudor houses. But for the mock-Tudor houses instead of the allotments, it's the house of my dream.
Several years later I'm chatting to my next door neighbour. She's lived in her house for over twenty years. She's seen a lot of changes to the area she says, and tells me that before the mock-Tudor houses were built there used to be allotments there.
I still live in that house and it is still the house of my dreams.
+++
What does any of this mean? Nothing, I don't think. Only that it adds to the richness of life on this weird planet we all spin around on.
